


fight plan

by deltacrow



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokemon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions
Genre: copious swearing, novelization of pokemon game, oh fucking boy, trans male charcter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:01:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3956839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltacrow/pseuds/deltacrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This specific young man, who has appeared out of thin air and is finding an impressive amount of ways to swear, has no idea that he's in for the ride of his life; or would be, if there were any vehicles in his immediate future. It's much closer to a walk of his life, or a brisk jog.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the worst possible outcome of a walk in the woods, besides death, dismemberment, and creepypastas

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Eyes of the Beholder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1804825) by [Isis_the_Sphinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis_the_Sphinx/pseuds/Isis_the_Sphinx). 



> i finally caved, and wrote myself into the pokemon franchise in time for a game to start. 
> 
> hey, also, since i wrote in a self-insert, and have so many problems, please be aware that there will be panic attacks, probably unhealthy coping mechanisms, and discussions of both asexuality and being trans, as i am not only a hot fucking mess but also both of those. also, i tend to love creative swearing.

On the banks of a placid lake, an older gentleman and his young assistant turn and stride into the woods, before a boisterous young man dashes into its clearing.

 

The split second between these two events is what's important here, though.

 

Because between those two moments, a young man sits up, scrubs a hand through his hair and whines, "sweet fucking _Christ_ on a _toadstool_." This specific young man, who has appeared out of thin air and is finding an impressive amount of ways to swear, has no idea that he's in for the ride of his life; or would be, if there were any vehicles in his immediate future. It's much closer to a walk of his life, or a brisk jog.

 

The universe at large ponders the appearance of this strange and foul-mouthed individual when another young man careens past the tree line, trips over the one sitting, and throws them both into a patch of grass. (Here is where everything is brought into motion.)

 

\--- ---

 

"Man, where did you even come from?" The runner complains. "The name's Pearl. I haven't see you around before: you here for a Pokémon too?"

 

"See, I should be asking you the same thing, Stripes. Markus, and what the fuck?"

 

"I know, you're supposed to get your first from, like, family, but I cant _wait_ any longer! Dia _would_ be here, but he can't hurry up to save his _life_." Pearl combs his fingers through his blond hair- a nervous tick, judging from the state of his bedhead.

 

 _That's not what I meant,_ Markus thinks. _What the fuck is a Pokémon_. It seems like a commonplace thing, though, judging from how Pearl talks about it (them?), and he's never heard the term before. _This is terrible. Everything, objectively, is terrible._

 

Before Pearl can extol virtues of Pokémon to his frankly uncaring audience, another young man enters the clearing, sleepy-eyed and eating a rice cake. "Pearl, who's this?" He asks, while holding out the bag to Pearl.

 

Pearl reaches in, grabs two, passes one to Markus, and opens his mouth. He manages to introduce Markus, praise Dia's (because this must be Dia) forethought, condemn his tardiness, and inhale the rice cake in one breath. Its an impressive feat, and one Markus has no time to think about as Pearl grabs Markus' wrist, and drags him further into the grass, towards the shore of the lake. "See, there was this awesome documentary from Johto-- "The Search for The Red Gyarados"!-- And _we_ have a lake, so shouldn't there be something cool living around here?"

 

Dia nods along absently, but he eyes the underbrush warily. "There's an island in the center of the lake, but nobody around has enough Badges for Surf. That's about it here." Markus manages to free his wrist from Pearl's cast-iron grip, and Pearl uses his newly-empty hand to gesture to the lake around them. Behind his back, Dia murmurs, "honestly, I'm not sure there's anything more interesting than a Bidoof or two around here, but when Pearl's got his heart set..."

 

Markus knows these kinds of people. They roomed with him in college and demanded use of his GameCube. But it's like these two are speaking a different dialect, where he can catch enough of the words to place the accent but not enough to have anything make sense.

 

Maybe his impromptu trip into the woods was a terrible idea. He's getting a niggling suspicion that it was. (He certainly remembers the woods by his house being more swampland than forest.)

 

Dia must realize that Markus is close to panicking, maybe for not the reason he suspects, because he tilts the rice cake bag towards Markus and silently offers one of the last ones. Markus takes him up on this offer, and wonders why none of the other guys he's met before have ever been this friendly.

 

So of course three teenage boys manage to startle the wildlife enough to attack. Mutant birds fly from the trees and dive-bomb the boys, their bodies as big as Markus' head, wingspans proportional. _What kind of steroids are these assholes on?_

 

Pearl drags both him and Dia toward the path through the tree line, but Markus trips over something large and heavy, and they all tumble to the ground. It's a briefcase; nobody has time to wonder who the hell leaves a briefcase at a lake before Dia wards off a bird by waving it around. One slams into it, and Markus braces himself to hear hollow bones shatter on impact. But only feathers drop to the ground and the bird looks disgruntled, not dead.

 

The impact must have screwed up the locking mechanism, because the briefcase falls open, throwing up papers and some baubles. Pearl yells and dives for them, and tosses one to Markus. Markus fumbles with the ball thing, pressing a button before in cracks open and a red light shoots out.

 

(Two thoughts war in his head as this all happens:

 

First, _this was someone's and I broke it, please kill me._

Second, _what is this, some kind of anime? Jesus H. Dicks._ )

 

The light solidifies into a chipper monkey with its _ass on fire._ It screeches and clambers up Markus' leg, before hissing at the birds. Markus notices more of these lights, and sees Pearl and Dia with an angry blue penguin chick and a turtle with a sapling on its shell. The birds squawk and scatter, taking off to the treetops to twitter angrily at them.

 

"Oh, man, they're awesome!" Pearl exclaims, picking up the penguin. "I've never been in a battle before, d'you think they're hurt at all? Do we keep them outside the Pokéball? Guys, what do we do?"

 

"They're not ours," Dia reminds sadly, petting his turtle, while Markus stares at the monkey on his shoulder and says, "I don't trust anything that breaks the laws of physics." The monkey seems to like this answer, because it rubs its face against his cheek and Markus blurts out, "if I didn't think you'd light me on fire I'd cuddle you forever, no questions asked."

 

"Oh my god what _happened?_ " A newcomer yells, charging towards the boys. She sees the open briefcase, the papers on the ground, and the tree improbable animals, and begins to turn beet red. Her hands clench and she mutters darkly about thieves before Markus realizes how bad this all looks and yelps, "we got attacked! Briefcase shield!"

 

"Attacked?" She eyes the boys critically, hands still balled, but Dia flips up the lid and showcases the beating it took. Pearl flails towards the trees and mentions "a horde of Starly! They took us by surprise!" She unclenches her fists, a little bit, and calls, "Professor! I found it!" She never takes her eyes off of the boys. Markus thinks, a little hysterically, that he needs to think up some puzzles quickly if he wants a shot of keeping the cuddle monster on his shoulder.

 

An older gentleman, stern and grandfatherly looking, strides out to meet them. Well, he _would_ be grandfatherly, if all grandfathers walked out of a Joseph Conrad story or embodied posh manners and stiff upper lips. Markus never liked Conrad, but he did feel distinctly like prey being sized up before a hunt. The feeling abated, but never passed, as this professor sized up both Dia and Pearl.

 

The professor hums, clasps his hands behind his back, and barks at them to pick up his fallen papers. The monkey climbs onto the back of Markus' head as he moves, chittering away and pulling on his hair. A lucky coincidence that he's forgotten to get a haircut recently, and that he ditched the stubbly ponytail ages ago. The papers all look pretty interesting-- something about energy and evolution of Pokémon, so they're animals? Huh.-- and takes a look at the appendix. "Hey, uhh, sir?"

 

"What is it, young man?"

 

"I-- uhm. Do you have any extra copies of this?"

 

The professor raises his eyebrow. "Of my _unpublished research?_ "

 

"No! No, the _appendix,_ I just wanna see what resources you used! It's-- I mean, I only understood like one word in 20, but it looked interesting, and I--"

 

"That's enough," the professor says, not unkindly. "It was an odd request. Many are not interested in the academic minutiae of the world around us."

 

"Don't get me wrong, academia is always boring," Markus replies, flushing with embarrassment. "I just... ugh." He flings his hands up, papers fluttering with the motion. "There's too many things I don't get and that's stupid and I hate it." The papers are collected and replaced haphazardly, and the only thing that remains are the animals-- Pokémon, Markus guesses. He's strangely reluctant to part with it, and Dia looks like he's about to cry as he pulls himself to where the sphere things are. Pearl, no matter how excited he was about playing with his penguin thing, is the first to get to the one that probably contained it. He buries his face in the downy fluff, and presses the button in the center of the-- he called it a Pokéball, earlier-- and Markus feels the need to look away as the red light swallows the Pokémon whole.

 

Here is another thing he hates, attachment, because nothing good ever stays. The monkey tugs at Markus' hair and whines, before climbing down to his chest and throwing arms around his neck. "Gotta say, bae, I took you for the clingy type, but not like this."

 

"It seems your Pokémon are quite attached to you already," the professor sniffs. "How curious. Very well! You may keep them."

 

A collective cry goes up among the youth collective. The girl-- Markus has no idea what her name is-- seems to be on some scale of outrage, talking about wasted research, while Dia and Pearl are celebrating. Markus just smiles a lot, because he's got another set of ears near his mouth, and carefully maneuvers his arms to pet at its head. It chitters happily, nudging its head under his chin. "You're a sweetie," Markus croons. "You got a name I can call you, or should I make one up?"

 

"It's part of a species known as Chimchar," the professor says, having detached himself from the noisy trio, "and while many trainers tend to refer to Pokémon by their species name, some do prefer to nickname them. Incidentally, that Chimchar is male."

 

"Thank you, sir. Uhm. I never caught your name."

 

The professor sighs and straightens out his sweater. "Rowan. I am Professor Rowan. My assistant is Ms. Platinum Berlitz."

 

"I-- Markus. That's Pearl and-- hey, man, does Dia stand for something or are you cool with just that?"

 

"Dia is fine." Pearl looks at Markus curiously, before nodding to himself and engaging Platinum once more in heated debate. It... something about type advantages and training? Markus doesn't even want to know.

 

"That said," Rowan announces over the din, "I need to see you all within the week at my lab. It's in the next town over, you cannot miss it." He gestures to Platinum, who gathers up the briefcase and dashes after the Professor. She shoots Pearl one last glare and waves to both Dia and Markus over her shoulder.

 

When the two of them are gone, Pearl drags Markus towards the tree line and invites him to sleep over at his house. "Because you're not from around here, right? How did you get here, anyway? Everyone stops at Twinleaf before Lake Verity, and you looked really surprised at seeing a Pokémon-- this _wasn't_ your _first time_ seeing one, was it? How--"

 

Dia slaps a hand over Pearl's mouth. "That's enough." Pearl, muffled, says something that only Dia can understand, before licking Dia's hand. Dia rips his hand away and wipes his palm on his pants, and Pearl cackles.The Chimchar chitters and climbs back onto Markus' head, clutching his hair and giving him pigtails.

 

"But no, really," Dia continues. "It's been a long day. Would your mom mind the two of us over tonight?"

 

"Dad's taken her out; she'll be home in a few days."

 

Dia clicks his tongue and steers Pearl, and by extension Markus, down a different path. "Mom's got soup on tonight and won't mind company. Stay with me."

 

Pearl bemoans his manhandling, and the Chimchar looks on in amusement from Markus' head. Which reminds him: "Hey, did I ever give you a name? Because I am extraordinary at nicknames. One tug yes, two no." The chimchar pulls at his hair, a hard one-rest-two tugs, and Markus yelps, "Gentle, _gentle_ , I need that hair!"

 

The Chimchar buries its face in his hair, which he takes as an apology, so he presses on: "see, there's either an etymology route, a physical route, or a spiritual route we could go. Pick one-- careful! _Careful_!-- oh, man, _physical_. Okay." The boys watch in bemusement as Markus loses himself in a one-sided conversation with his Pokémon.

 

"Obvious route is Darwin or Goodall, which _are terrible, I agree!_ \-- because evolution and monkeys," (where Dia looks at Pearl and mouths, _Mankey?_ and Pearl shrugs, mouthing _no_ , and puts a finger to his lips) "which is the height of awful, terrible names. Same obvious level and mildly more classy is Charles or, hell, even Jane; same reference, better name, still not good enough, I see. I like Roy, he does flame alchemy, reference to Fullmetal; always liked his character, excellent development-- speaking of fire and excellent development, what about Zuko? Iroh?"

 

Markus throws his hands up and sighs, "you are surprisingly picky about this whole name thing, aren't you?" The Chimchar screeches in delight and tugs again at his hair. "I mean, we could go with, say, Kindle, or Flint, or Matchstick or something. Diatom, at the end of a match-- _because they burn! So do you!_ Ahh, stop _doing_ that!-- or, like, Blaze or Inferno or someth-- oh! Inferno?" The monkey tugs once, and swings onto Markus' shoulder to rub their cheeks together, chattering happily all the while.

 

This one-sided ramble continued from the edge of town to Dia's house, windows open to allow the spring breeze entrance. By the time Inferno had been christened, Dia was unlocking the front door and Pearl was untying his shoelaces.

 

\--- ---

 

The house itself is warm and inviting, if small: there's a connected kitchen-dining room-living room space on the ground floor, and a unobtrusive door under the stairs that could be a bathroom. Dia's mother-- because with that face, she could be no one else-- greets everyone warmly, head nearly in the pot in front of her. It smells heavenly, and reminds Markus of his own mother, and his promise to be home before dark. (It's just another promise he can't seem to keep.)

 

“Man, why don’t you put--”

 

“Inferno.”

 

“--Inferno into his pokéball?”

 

Markus squares his jaw, and feels oddly protective of his new friend. “I don’t trust anything that breaks the laws of physics.” Inferno just parks himself on Markus’ left shoulder and preens at the attention lavished on him. When Dia and Pearl look at him oddly, he rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “That’s not weird, is it?”

 

Pearl slaps Dia’s back and yells, “point seven on ‘why Markus isn't from around here!’”

 

“Don’t be so... so cavalier about it!” It’s a lot of things that have been chipping into Markus’ composure, and the fact that, in the space of an hour or so, two boys have continuously poked and prodded at his feelings of not-belonging, constantly reminded him of the panic he’s been quashing, that makes his voice crack and his eyes tear. Pearl moans, “oh, _no_ ,” and Dia’s mother pushes her son towards the pot before gingerly (everyone is _very_ aware of the angry, flaming monkey) drawing Markus into a hug and moving the party towards the couch. Pearl runs off to get tissues, Dia is steadfastly ignoring everything but stirring the pot in front of him, and Inferno balances on both Dia’s mother’s shoulder and Markus’ before petting his head.

 

Markus cries into her chest for a good, long while.

 

\--- ---

 

Dinner is a subdued affair, centered around the coffee table in the living room. Forest green place mats are splayed on the table, magazines pushed to the ground. Inferno is picking at the vegetables and meat left behind in Markus’ bowl, while Markus himself gnaws on a stump of dipping bread.

 

“I still cannot believe you went through _half a loaf_. By _yourself_ ,” Pearl groans. "I thought only Dia could do that!"

 

Markus chuckles. still sounding watery, and mumbles “I did warn you.”

 

“Don’t you eat the stuff in it? Like a normal person?”

 

“You and my mother both, dude.” Markus scrubs a hand over his face, and sighs internally. “Okay, clear the air, you’re totally right about the “not being from around here” sh-- fuck, sorry-- _oh my god_.” Markus laughs, mortified. “I can’t swear here!”

 

Dia’s mother-- _call me Dawn, honey,_ sorry-- bops him on the back of the head. “I can’t say I’m a fan,” she chastises, “but I have heard worse.” She waves her spoon at the boys around her and yells, “don’t get used to it!”

 

Markus laughs again, and he really likes Dawn-- she’s a great lady-- but he’s so glad she’s not one of those “call me mom” types. because her haircut and sense of humor reminds him so much of his mother that it would just feel like a slap in the face every time he saw her.

 

(And he’d be a masochist about it, too: he’d try to use this house as a base, come to ground here if he needs to stay here for a long time. Call it “home” and walk in, yell something stupid or reference a family joke and wait for a response and feel nothing but _heartbreak_ when Dawn doesn't get a joke that Mom would--)

 

“I am probably going to start crying again,” Markus announces, and feels rage boil under his skin, at not being able to contain this, not being able to communicate. Dia scrambles for the tissues again-- they’ve been knocked to the floor in favor of food-- and Pearl looks like he’s about to bolt when Markus says “no” and pins him with a look. “I need to talk about this, but I’m probably gonna start crying and make awful jokes.”

 

Markus takes a deep breath, and feels his chest constrict under his binder and under the weight of emotion, and lets it out. In, two, three, four; rest, two, three, four. Just like in choir, use the least air for the most noise, round your vowels and enunciate so everyone can understand you. Out, two, three, four; rest, two, three, four. Okay, rounding vowels in speech makes you sound terrible, but everything else applies. Know when you start, when your part ends. Take a quick, quiet breath. Open your mouth; begin.

 

“I don’t know what the hell a Pokémon is.” That was a _terrible_ place to start. Keep going, that was totally on purpose, your audience doesn’t need to know that is wasn’t. “Rephrase,” god _dammit_ , “Pokémon don’t exist where I’m from. Uhm. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of America?” Pearl shakes his head, quick to jump from one topic to another. Markus appreciates this, but Dia and Dawn are still a little shocked over his confession. “Yeah, so, I was out? In the woods by my house? We’re moving-- terrible taxes, dumb small town politics, you know the drill, New Jersey is terrible-- and I just,” a lump forms in Markus’ throat. Inferno climbs into his lap, soup dribbling from his mouth, and twists around to avoid lighting Markus on fire. His tiny, warm weight is terribly comforting, and his gut twists when he’s reminded of the old family dog before she died. Oh boy.

 

“I just wanted some air, and Mom said it was okay as long as I was back before dinner-- I must have hit my head on something, because I lost a lot of time between the old bike jumps and that lake and then,” A tear, then two, stream down his face, and he can feel it crumple as he waves a hand and sinks into a couch cushion, trying to encompass everything that’s seemed to happen. Everything feels heavy, and he wants to punch someone in their smug-fucker throat, because _why him_. He had a therapy appointment the next day! He has college! He still hasn’t finished packing! There are a thousand little reasons that mostly add up to Markus can’t handle change well and will panic at the first sign of anything he can’t rationalize.

 

“I need to get home,” he stresses. Dia nods absently-- after his initial shock of _how do you not know what a Pokémon is at all though_ , he sat there and kept up a poker face like a champ, somehow Markus is less than surprised by this-- and cocks his head toward the stairs.

 

“First, you need to sleep,” he decrees, and pulls himself up from off the floor and collects plates. “You can borrow some of my pajamas, we’ll be up in a sec.”

 

Ugh. Shit. Markus gets up and replies, “nah, man, I don’t want to take up space, lemme help with the dishes.” He grabs spoons in one hand and gathers place mats in the other, and nudges Inferno off of his lap with an elbow. “How are you even managing to nap like that, I have it on excellent authority that I am a _terrible_ pillow.”

 

“What kind of authority is that?” Dawn jokes, elbowing him in the ribs, cheeky grin on her face.

 

“I go to college! Sleepovers are terrible on a twin-sized bed.”

 

“Oh?” She makes grabby hands at Markus and he reluctantly relinquishes his hold on the things in his hands. “These authorities, are they published and peer-reviewed?” He opens his mouth to say _yes_ until he realizes what those wiggly eyebrows mean.

 

“Oh my god, I’m ace as hell, I didn’t even have to deal with this from my _parents_.”

 

Dia and Dawn laugh at that, Dia with quiet, breathy chuckles, Dawn hooting and snorting over Markus’ affronted look. He covers his face and smiles into his palms-- making people laugh, even at small things, has always made him happy.

 

Pearl walks back in, wearing sweatpants and carrying a backpack and pillow, to another mortified Markus and Dia’s family cackling, slinging innuendos around, and flicking soap bubbles at each other.

 

He smiles, and hurls the pillow at Markus before wrestling him into a headlock and making up his own sordid details about Markus’ love life.

 

\--- ---

 

They've retired to Dia's bedroom for the night, a window propped open to let in the cool evening breeze. The Piplup and Turtwig-- because those are totally the scientific names for penguins and leaf turtles-- have been fed and are piled together sleepily.

 

"Okay, crash course time!" Pearl announces, fumbling with a pair of Groucho Marx glasses. He passes those to Dia, who puts them on with the air of a priest performing sacrament, pushing them up and grabbing a notebook that's missing half its pages. He pushes it and a pencil towards Markus, admonishing him to "remember the accent over the 'e'" and to "take thorough notes, this will be graded".

Markus looks back to Pearl, who has managed to wrestle himself into a wrinkly lab coat and fished a pair of  coke-bottle glasses out of thin-air. Markus chuckles, out of nervous habit. He's not sure if that's the correct response. (The backpack is on the floor and zipped open, but still looks full. Does he have a change of clothes in there? Is everything in there a prop?)

 

"If anyone asks about why you are missing such important information, you have insomnia--"

 

"Amnesia," Dia corrects.

 

"--and cannot remember much past your own name."

 

"That's stupid and mean," Markus grumbles.

 

"Do not interrupt the professor while he's professing!" Pearl shouts, flinging a rubber eraser at Markus' head. He clears his throat, and affects a truly awful high-class accent. "This world is widely inhabited by creatures we call POKÉMON," he intones, and Markus can hear the capital letters and over-emphasized "é".

 

The mood changes immediately when Pearl drawls, "speaking of Pokémon!" Dia sits up and says, "there sure are a lot of types of Pokémon, aren't there?"

 

"You're absolutely right, Dia! What's your favorite type?"

 

"Dark."

 

"Dark? Really?"

 

"Yeah, tall, dark, and handsome--"

 

A paper fan whistles through the air and hits Dia over the head. "Thats a type of man, not a type of Pokémon!" They look at Markus expectantly, and he realizes that this was _all staged._ They are _waiting for his reaction._

 

"I'm pretty sure it'd be funnier if I knew what you were talking about," he blurts out. "How... how long have you had this staged?"

 

The two of them groan, and Pearl lets the paper fan drop to the floor. "A while," he admits. "But we forgot to factor in our audience!" He moans into his hands. "An entire manzai, _wasted!_ "

 

Markus feels vaguely uncomfortable. _It's going to be a long night, isn't it._

\--- ---


	2. punch yourself in the eyes every morning to get that half-lidded animal crossing asthetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> markus nearly gives up before he's started, because moral dilemmas and mutant bugs.

It is, in fact, a long night. It's one of the longest nights of Markus' life, and literally last Sunday he couldn't get to sleep until 6 AM Monday morning. Pearl, in his unbridled enthusiasm, kept up his "Pokémon Professor" routine, and Dia seems to have graduated summa cum laude in the field of keeping up with Pearl.

 

Markus managed to escape by half past 3 AM without resorting to murder, which generally is considered an excellent way to end a sleepover. Avoiding murder, that is, not committing one.

 

An alarm goes off around 9, which everyone but Markus is inclined to ignore-- funny enough, all out of habit-- and stumbles into the bathroom he knows is downstairs. "Son of a fuck," he mutters as the door closes. He slept in his binder and sweatshirt last night, one of the Homestuck ones that make the wearer feel like a closeted weeb until someone loudly points out their geek affiliation. Andrew Hussie, cornering the market on trashy pop-culture. Peeling off his sweatshirt and bra, he splashes cold water on his face and throws his sweatshirt back on before stuffing the bra into his hoodie pocket and stumbling into the living room again. The right sleeve has come undone at the stitches, and his constant worrying only makes the neat tear deepen.

 

Dawn is already up, and frowning into her coffee mug. Markus croaks, "morning," and she jumps three feet in the air. "Oh, morning, honey! Sorry, you caught me by surprise."

 

Markus deadpans, "a Grim in the tea leaves," and the silence makes his heart skip a beat. "I-- I'm sorry."

 

"For what?"

 

"That was-- a bad joke? I'm. I'm sorry?"

 

Dawn waves her hand, brushing off his apology. "Honey, I haven't heard that many 'sorry's since my husband left. You can tone it down a notch." Markus opens his mouth to apologize, and thinks better of it and nodding instead. "Here's what I'm worried about: identification."

 

She places her mug on the table in front of her and motions for Markus to sit down on the sofa. "You need to get home. You are probably going to have to be here for a while. My family is not known for scientists or fraudsters, so we cannot help you with either of those fronts."

 

"You have been given an incredible gift, however," she continues, firmly, and nods in the direction of the stairs.

 

"Ah?" Markus is not sure he follows. Markus hopes he doesn't follow, because it sounds like she's talking about--

 

"With a Pokémon, you can automatically qualify for a Trainer ID, and that's an acceptable form of ID anywhere, and challenging the Gym circuit is always a good way to explain travel."

 

 _Swiss_ fucking _cheese_ , she is. "I can't."

 

"Honey, anyone can be a trainer, that's not a problem, but I think you'd make a  _good_  trainer--"

 

"It's not that! It's-- you're asking me to think _chess_ when we're playing _Clue._ I can't!" Dawn looks baffled. Markus wonders how he can explain Clue in a non-morbid way, _it's a classic game about hypothetical murder, one of my favorites,_ before he realizes it's less the metaphor and more the ingrained cultural ideas of training Pok émon to be noble, for battling to be glorious. "It's-- we have laws against having animals get hurt like that. _Intentionally_. It's... kind of the lowest you can sink in the eyes of the public, along with like child abuse and pedophilia, because children and animals don't know what you're doing is wrong, reprehensible."

 

Dawn nods, because she can get behind that idea. "Pokémon are also a good deal smarter than you're giving them credit for, and will generally ignore trainers with malicious intent or little to no capability," she counters. "And you _will_ need to travel to find out what happened to you, which demands strong Pok émon to get you there and defend you. You're not gonna get answers here, kid." She drums her fingers on the arm rest behind her. "And everyone battles here. Even bad guys. Especially bad guys," she amends.

 

"Ugh," Markus groans, flopping back onto the sofa. "Why does everything have to be morally ambiguous, like, _all of the time_." The dramatic flop was a terrible idea. He pulls himself up, feeling like Nosferatu, and whines, "I am going to steal your milk. Milk doesn't betray me and force me into moral dilemmas with no good outcome."

 

\--- ---

 

Inferno finds Markus midway through his second glass of milk. Markus watches with amusement as Inferno leaps off the bannister, scampers across the floor, and climbs up the counter. "Should have named you Ezio," Markus muses. "Imposed a terrible Assassin's Creed reference, no take backs. You hardcore parkour'd too hard, man."  He retaliates by stealing the glass out of Markus' hand and downing the remaining milk. "You're gonna be really upset soon if you're lactose intolerant, brotato."

 

"Moomoo Milk actually has health-restoring properties, and comes in shelf-stable packaging!"

 

Markus cradles his head in his hands and replies, "that is amazing. I am amazed. Put your glass in the sink when you're done, because I _refuse_ to touch that now. Nope!" He flails when Inferno pushes the cup into his face, snickering in his own monkey way before climbing toward the sink. Dawn retrieves the wayward dishware, and Inferno turns his attention back to Markus, who is wiping his face with a napkin and saying, "so I've been thinking--"

 

Pearl makes himself known from the bottom of the stairs by calling, "about _Pokémon?_ " in his "manzai voice".

 

"Son of a bitch, no, about battling. Is that a thing you wanna do, bambino?" Inferno ruffles Markus' hair, probably imitating Markus or some faceless lab tech, like he's congratulating a small and impressionable relative for getting a "Good Job!!" and stickers on a math test.

 

(And goddammit, it works, too, because Markus feels irrationally pleased for considering Inferno's opinion.)

 

What comes out is a dry, "that shit won't fly, man, I'm not a dog," but no one is fooled, because he can feel the grin crawling across his face. Which reminds him of--

 

"Oh, sweet angel tears, there are giant _bugs_ , aren't there." Markus pushes himself away from the table and throws up his hands. "That's it, journey's over, I'll be here, counting the minutes until y'all stumble through that doorway again."

 

"There's still meeting the professor--"

 

"Tell him I died!" Markus propels himself up the stairs, voice getting louder as Dia pokes his head out curiously from the bathroom. "I got mauled to death, very gruesome, immediate burial, and Inferno is still grieving."

 

"Why are we killing you off now?"

 

"Bugs. _Mutant bugs_." Markus throws himself into Dia's room, keeping the door open as a courtesy to its inhabitant and his daily ablutions.

 

"Your starter is a fire type? I don't see many problems there."

 

" _It's the principle of the thing,_ " he screeches into a pillow.

 

\--- ---

 

In the end, Markus still has to raid Dia's-- and Pearl's, but how he brought so many clothes over at once is a mystery-- wardrobe for clothes, and finds himself pushed out the door. It's maybe about 11 AM, and Inferno is screeching in delight _right above his head_. Someone is clearly excited, and hopefully will grow to be better socialized. "Saints fucking pickle me alive, please stop screaming, we will get arrested for how criminally loud you are right now, and I am _too straightedge_ to have a police record."

 

Inferno reluctantly quits screeching. Good behavior must be rewarded, he thinks, but probably not with food? Markus has no idea how this shit works. He doesn't know how children work, let alone intelligent flaming monkeys. "Sorry if I sounded angry, kiddo," he tries, because what the hell. Why not. "You were-- fuck, no, I statements-- uhh. _I_ , uhh, am really not good with loud noises? And you have an impressive set of lungs. And are right by my ears." Is that okay? Shit, does he need to add on anything else? "Can you forgive me for being angry? By not being super loud in my ears?" _Aw yeah. Nailed it. Ahahaha, not really, he probably thinks you're a fucking asshole now, way to fucking_ go.

 

Inferno flops onto Markus' head, like he's trying to keep any of his trainer's negative thoughts from fizzing out and exploding into the open air. "Ugh, you're too good at this," Markus whines. Is there, like, a smell? Does he _smell_ when he gets anxious and self-deprecating?

 

The walk itself passes mostly without incident. The two of them run into those nasty bird fuckers once or twice, which sends Inferno into something of a snarling rage, look what Pokémon is never coming onto _this_ team. Once, Markus trips over a creature that must be a Bidoof. It fits too perfectly, with its goofy buck teeth and lackadaisical attitude. It epitomizes its name. The linguistic nerd in Markus is satisfied and can retire in peace to the Bahamas now, or whatever Bahamic equivalent exists in this beautiful, glorious world.

 

\--- ---

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> milk can bring moral dilemmas. markus chooses to forget that commercial farming and overproduction of methane gas are a thing.


	3. im getting my diploma in a wedding dress so i can say im married to my work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> professor rowan needs to keep his papers online. markus asserts himself as a big crybaby nerd; poor kid.

Sandgem Town is a terrible, dumpy tourist trap.

 

"It's like LBI, but tiny and in need of a new coat of paint," Markus notes, fists clenched and teeth gritting. Inferno sits up on his shoulders, feeling the tension building there. "I'm pretty glad it's still light out though."

 

The storefronts on the boardwalk to the south have been boarded up, some planks at the end of a small pier quietly rotting away. The salt air has done nothing for some of the seaside houses, with wrought-iron railings flaking off rust. The three best-kept buildings are the Lab, PokéCenter, and PokéMart with the latter nearly not clocking in: the aesthetic damage made it look ramshackle, but it's still a sturdy building, and really only needs a decent coat or two of paint.

 

Markus decides to swing by the PokéCenter, if only because he is wildly out of shape and needs to catch his breath, not because he'd like to delay the Professor-- fuck, it was a tree-- meeting Professor Tree and needing to explain his cosmic weirdness, and probably have to give up Inferno. _Too fucking volatile, think of_ Inferno, _man, he needs a more stable existence. Either you leave him behind or you never make it home, never see anyone again, leave like a failure, what would Mom think? She'd either be disappointed or heartbroken--_

 

Markus' eyes get covered as he starts to tear up again. Ahaha. Ha. Fucking crying reflex, terrible, why do humans even _do_ that, man. Stick to removing dirt, eye-cleaning electrolyte ducts. Inferno flips himself off of Markus' head, chittering like a chastising mother, and patting his cheeks before yanking his head down to look dead in his eyes.

 

Markus begins to chuckle, because he has no self-preservation instincts, and carefully drapes his arms around his stupid, wonderful monkey friend. Inferno is pleased by this new development, the little minx, and is content to be carried to the lab like a toddler.

 

"Alright! Let's. Let's face that music, bambino."

 

\--- ---

 

Inferno pulls at Markus' collar, and sends him planative looks, pleading _facing music is terrible, let's ditch the band, please send help._ Markus would be _so_ there, if he didn't have an appointment to keep. "If we don't do it now, I'll forget, you'll never remind me, and we'll get yelled at." Markus shivers. "I don't like getting yelled at, and have strict self-flagellation routines for missing appointments. You don't like me when I'm in self-hate throes, so here we are."

 

 _Here_ happens to be leaning on the only table not visibly groaning under boxes and books to be shelved or re-shelved. (Another table has a neat pit in the center where papers slide and towers collapse into. _That table is metal._ )

 

"I must say," the Professor-- Rowan, as Markus has now peeked at papers and found out (again)-- muses, "I was not expecting any of you so promptly! Where, pray tell," he asks, looking around the hustle and bustle of the lab, "are your friends?"

 

"They needed to make sure you didn't eat children so they sent me ahead," he blurts, because there is literally _no conceivable way_ he could fuck up a first (second) impression any worse. Markus manages to keep his face blank, because occasionally he can be a stone-cold badass. Or absolutely fucking _bananas_ , but it’s the same thing, really.

 

"You don't look much like a child, so you make poor bait."

 

"See, my brain is telling me that you're making jokes, but my eyes tell me you have a Ron Swanson mustache and thus cannot make any jokes, except about how terrible big government is." Markus feels a rush of shame suddenly. "I dont even _watch_ Parks and Rec. Why did I say that? Why have I said _anything?_ Where was the oversight?" He pokes Inferno's belly. "I'm submitting a formal complaint to your department. Someone's getting fired, and it's sure as hell not going to be me."

 

Rowan clears his throat. Markus jumps, startled, and manages to suddenly dislodge Inferno from his stranglehold on Markus' shirt. "It does my heart good to see the two of you bonding so well." Rowan gestures for Markus to follow him deeper into the lab. There's spartan living quarters on his left when the party comes to a stop in front of a neat, if burdened, desk. "I was hoping to explain myself to a group and only repeat myself once, but it seems that's not in the cards.”

 

"As you can see," he gestures to the lab at large, "we are a dedicated, if understaffed, research facility. I-- this team-- primarily research Pokémon evolution, and while there is no shortage of enthusiasm, there is a distinct shortage of capable trainers." Rowan turns around and swipes one of the red boxes from the desk, pushing it towards Markus. The box has a stylized pokéball and, on a whim, Markus presses his thumb in the center of the design. The outline lights up, and the compartment slides downwards, revealing a digital display and letting the pokéball spin like a cycle through the washing machine.

 

"That's a Pokédex." Rowan preens, and while Markus would rather have a smartphone and an app, he can admit that the design is simplistic and elegant, which is always something to be proud of. "It will record data from any Pokémon you may encounter in this region. We're working out software bugs in the international version, but we'd greatly appreciate it if you'd gather data on local Pokémon while on your journey."

 

Son of a gun. Son of a loaded, half-cocked gun. "Hey, uhh, slightly embarrassing, and, um. Potentially life-changing question?"

 

Professor Rowan looks miffed, probably about being cut off (perhaps? He hopes?), but to his credit that is his only "I'm concerned and/ or confused" tell. Markus chooses to take this as a sign to press forward. "There wouldn't-- fuck, sorry, there doesn't happen to be a Pokémon that can dick around with spacetime or interact with other divergent realities, right?"

 

Markus goes in for a two-one punch and follows it up with, "and how can I get ID? Because I, uh, my wallet is back home, in presumably some other dimension, and I don't think my student ID would work either?"

 

He's not sure if he's proven or disproven someone's thesis, but since there's a cartoonish swooning noise and a thump behind him, he assumes something earth-shattering has happened to someone's dissertations. He's choosing to ignore the possibility that he's said something so profoundly dumb that it knocked out a scientist with a lesser constitution.

 

Rowan makes a thoughtful noise and worries at the end of his mustache, before focusing on Markus again and saying, "why don't we discuss this somewhere quieter." (This is not up for debate. Markus feels a little like he's being herded either to the back of a police cruiser or to an execution block. He's not sure which he'd prefer.)

 

\--- ---

 

Hypothetically, Markus had seen this moment coming and prepared for it accordingly.

 

It turns out to be less intelligible than his last attempt, if only because he's trying to not sound like a blithering idiot. Or cry. He is also trying not to cry, but putting less stock in his abilities to avoid stress-crying.

 

"In short," Professor Rowan cuts in, fingers curling and uncurling around his teacup, "you are from an alternate reality where Pokémon do not exist. This frankly dramatic change has altered both history and human development to a point where, were we ever a single timeline, we have become so disparate that the chances of you being, as you say, "dropped here"," and he even uses _finger quotes_ there, what the hell, "at random are slim to nothing."

 

"Right." Markus like the ideas of quantum physics applied to multiverse theories as much as the next guy-- well, he probably took the next guy's enthusiasm for himself, to be honest-- but more than half that shit flies right the hell over his head on a good day. "So... ideas? Because I don't think wormholes to other planets just _open up_."

 

"I haven't the foggiest," Professor Rowan replies, awkwardly hesitant. "Folklore of the region paints a picture of Gods of Space and Time, but beyond that..."

 

"Ah." Son of a bitch. This is going nowhere, and since science has failed thus far, and folklore has always at least held a kernel of understanding, Markus makes his decision there before he can back out or really think about it. "Anywhere I should head to?"

 

"I..." Rowan tilts his head, and slaps his teacup down onto the table. "An old student, Cynthia," he calls over his shoulder, rummaging through a cardboard box and flinging papers everywhere. "She had a concentration on Sinnoh's folklore- her student records reported her grandmother to be the latest Celestic Town shrine bearer. I can-- contact her--" he grunts, leaning further into the box, before brandishing another packet of papers triumphantly. "Aha! Her doctorate dissertation! Read it over before you meet her; it's fascinating."

 

"I, uhm. I'll leave you to it? That? Thanks for your time! And help!" Markus backpedals his way out of the lab, because he will blow his top if he needs to stay one more minute in that lab. Ugh. Being an outsider, and a comparatively dumb one, made the entire place stifling and exhausting. He really just wants something he understands, and he understands taxpayer money going towards healthcare more than he understands quantum physics and cosmic frigging jokes. It's not the punchline he doesn't get here, _he's_ the punchline: it's the set-up and delivery he's not getting. It's not a good joke if you can't deliver it properly. Markus sure as hell isn't laughing.

He'd like to get part of it soon, if only to start laughing.

 

\--- ---

 

So Markus tromps next door and presents his Pokédex and temporary license that one of Rowan's minions issued him. Apparently Pokémon research facilities, so long as they're formally backed by whatever the hell they have as their United Nations, can issue temporary licences with no fucking fuss. Like, drive and operate machinery and participate in political processes and buy alcohol licences. Markus can think of half a dozen ways a research lab could abuse the hell out of that, and they all start and end with criminal enterprises operating out of basement spaces a lá Breaking Bad.

 

The presentation of items allows him to get a full, official, bona-fide Government ID with _Spades, Markus Leo_ stamped on it. (He is embracing his trashy Homestuck self, but only just. Oh, who is he kidding, he's saving his Breath hoodie for gym battles, he's complete Homestuck trash.) Along with this ID, he gets _complementary board_ and _stupidly discounted meals_. The ID comes in a neat carrying case with slots for his badges and has an RFID chip in it, the nurse explains, and so long as either the ID or the entire case is stolen, national police forces can and will retrieve it.

 

Markus and Inferno-- who has been strangely quiet all evening, come to think of it-- are shepherded towards the commissary. "Trainer dorms are down the hall, beginning on the left side," the nurse explains. "It'll be quiet tonight-- not many people swing by Sandgem anymore."

 

"Yeah, uhm." He wants to ask, why is that? What happened? But her tone suggested that this was a common knowledge thing, so he shrugs noncommittally and thanks her before tucking himself into _no, nah, yes,_ the third room on the left.

 

"Aww, yes," he hisses, and shimmies his way up to the top bunk by the wall. "Living large, Inferno, get cozy and take a snooze." Markus squirms, trying to get comfortable without the weight of his new backpack-- the nurse confiscated it and put it in something a lockbox behind the desk-- tugging at his shoulders. Inferno whines, and wriggles on Markus' chest as payback for disrupting his position. Inferno falls asleep quickly, like he does everything: judges quickly, moves quickly. Markus can feel the flames petter out as Inferno's breathing slows, and mutters, "would've been nice to know earlier, asshole," but any heat he could had was gone.

 

He falls asleep almost immediately that night, and doesn't once let go of Inferno.

 

(Inferno never once let go of him.

 

It's the little things that count.)

 

\--- ---

 


	4. fite me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> markus takes a shower and fights a man. kid. person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> doot doot, i am now explicitly stating that markus is trans. markus is ftm trans. i am trans. at this point, he binds with sports bras b/c he is fortunate enough to have smol breasts. 
> 
> he will go into a communal showering area for women, and pls understand that its not because he's a sexual deviant, its simply easier-- as someone who is not currently able to pass as a man without a shirt on-- and safer. he will probably continue this practice, b/c can you imagine getting a prescription plan for t when you dont exist?? or may stop existing at any point in time?? yeah me neither
> 
> also like its not like im gonna do shower scenes dont worry just some "i have to resign myself to being misgendered constantly by passerbys b/c of safety reasons" sort of shit.

 

"Rise and shine, asshole," Markus deadpans into Inferno's oversized ear. "I'm not Tarzan-ing you around, and refuse to lose hands to hold you upright when I could be double-fisting chocolate milk." Inferno smacks Markus in the nose, and buries his face into his sweater. "I refuse to be up and leave you out of this morning hell." He starts prying Inferno's fingers from his sweater, swearing and straining his hands. Inferno's grip tightens out of childish malice, and Markus just throws up his hands in defeat. He strips out of his shirt-- he's out of shape and did some hard walking and panicking, it smells gross and clings more than Inferno does-- and dives off the bed and out the door. Inferno howls, and scrambles to untangle himself before making a mad dash to the door.

 

"Oh, so _now_ you're up," Markus yells at the crack in the door. Someone clears their throat behind him.

 

"Please warn a guy," he says, after yelping and jumping three and a half feet in the air. A nurse-- not one from yesterday, this one has curly hair and freckles splattered across his face like an art student after a painting binge-- is staring pointedly at his chest. Whoops, guess who's not wearing a shirt? Markus isn't.

 

“It’s all confusing, I’m sorry, _Inferno’s being a dick,_ ” he yells into the crack of the door. “Where are showers and, like, a laundromat?”

 

The nurse points to the left and nudges Markus aside, knocking twice on the door before pressing his back against it, sidling as far as he could to the wall, and cracking it open. Inferno pokes his head out before barreling into Markus, using his bra straps as handholds, and headbutting him in the chin. “Ow, oh, you shitbag... ow, ow, if I start bleeding, I’m filing for a divorce; our relationship cannot be built on this kind of violence.” The nurse throws his discarded sweater at his head. “I get the message! Showers, showers...”

 

The end of the hall has presumably communal showers, like at community pools. Also like community pools, these showers are separated by gender. “Ugh.” Markus... sighs in defeat and heads into the women’s showers. “I really fucking hate life.”

 

\--- ---

 

Markus believes he’s spent, like, 12 fucking hours dillydallying between yesterday and today. Clearly, this is a sign to either a) give up or b) move on, and he doubts he’ll be able to get home with that kind of attitude. So, he collects his bag from the main desk, casually admires how clean the doors of the PokéCenter are, and then makes his way to the route to the north.

 

\--- ---

 

There is a small child. Markus feels like his entire trip should be narrated by someone, because he swear to _God_ he has walked into an episode of the Twilight Zone. Here he is, fresh out of his first year in college, and he manages to transport himself to another world, befriend some weird-ass animals, and scam government officials to participate in sanctioned animal fights; but when a child camps out at the beginning of a route, and stares into his eyes to incite a fight, Markus _draws a fucking line,_ somehow.

 

“The he... ck do you want, kid?” _Aww, yeah, fuckin’ nailed that._

 

“My name’s Joey! I challenge you to a battle!”

 

“Wait, what the hell? Why would you want to do that?”

 

And here’s where the record scratch would go, if his life was a terrible cartoon. Literally, Joey falters and freezes his throw-- _he’s going to throw a pokéball? With a Pokémon in it? Wouldn’t that make the Pokémon inside dizzy?_ \-- and replies, “why wouldn’t I? You have a Pokémon, I have a Pokémon; we’re trainers! We battle!”

 

 _He’s still holding the pose._ The poor kid is starting to wobble, too, which just makes Markus want to laugh. Instead, he shares a look with Inferno, who is leaning over his shoulder to goggle at Joey's frankly amazing balance, and tells him, “go do the voodoo that you do,” and nods toward the kid.

 

Joey takes that as a “I’ve set aside my moral and ethical beliefs for the law of the land”, in probably not so many words, and finishes his throw. The Pokéball drops to the down with the sound of a stone breaking the surface of a pond, and a Bidoof erupts from the Pokéball. Inferno just throws himself off of Markus’ back, and Markus himself settles down to watch.

 

Joey falters. “Aren’t you gonna tell... Aren’t you gonna tell him to do something?”

 

Markus raises an eyebrow. “I’m not the one in the fight? He’s got a brain; I’ll only trip him up.” Joey shrugs at his logic, and yells for his Bidoof to tackle. Tackle what, exactly? Bidoof’s target is implied, but this is a very imperfect system Joey’s using. Hmm.

 

Inferno clearly has speed on his side, and leaps to the side. Some wild pokémon watch the ruckus from the edges of the route-- some in the thick grass, some in the dense line of trees. Oh! Trees! Huh. “Can you dodge and listen, buddy?” Inferno screeches and spits fire at Bidoof. Huh, there’s something new. “Have him hit other things, not you!”

 

Inferno must make the intuitive leap that Markus does, because he retreats slowly towards the treeline, Bidoof charging at him with that Tackle command. Inferno backs into a tree, and scales it when Bidoof can’t seem to slow itself fast enough. _Isaac Newton,_ Markus thinks, _eat your heart out!_ Inferno leaps down from the tree and rakes his tiny hands over Bidoof’s face. The poor overbite-y bastard keens, and looks like he passed the hell out. _God, I hope we didn’t kill his pet._

 

“God, I hope we didn’t kill your pet,” Markus blurts out. He’s resigned himself to having no mental filter. “He’s alright, yeah?”

 

“No thanks to you,” the kid mumbles, cradling his Pokémon, and pressing the button on the center of the Pokéball. “What was that _even?_ ” he demands. “You didn’t even tell your Pokémon to attack! I thought you’d be an easy win!” The kid shoves his hands in his pockets, and Markus would have thought it was a nervous habit, except he drags them out immediately after with a _change purse._

 

“What are you doing, what are you _doing with that money?_ ”

 

“Giving it to you?”

 

“ _Why._ ”

 

“Because... you won?”

 

“I am-- what do you-- _I am not taking money from a child._ ” Markus would throw his hands up, except that Inferno would take that as an invitation to climb off his shoulders and hang on fro his elbow, probably, and he’s really not buff enough to carry that weight on an elbow.

 

“But that’s the rules! And I’m not a kid!” Joey shouts. “What would I even do with it?”

 

“What does anyone do with money? Go-- go buy yourself some ice cream! Choo choo,” he intones, in his best Cecil Palmer impersonation, “We are pulling into Sadsville, population, you and your Bidoof. Ice cream is thattaway,” he points to Sandgem Town, “watch your step, and watch out for bandits. And spending outside your means.”

 

Joey takes off for Sandgem Town, probably to get away from the weird-as-hell trainer and his weird-as-hell sensibilities. A blue lion-cub bounds in and stands where Joey did, rubbing against his legs.

 

Markus cannot help himself. He loves cats. He reaches down to let the cub smell his hand, and then scratches under its chin. Petting it is like petting a sentient rug, because the static that rubs off on him is just-- ridiculous. Oh sweet Christ does Markus want to carry this dumb fluffy lion everywhere.

 

“You are amazing. Inferno, this little lion is amazing. I love it. We are keeping him.” Inferno doesn’t seem to hate this prospect, as he is reaching down to pet the cub as well. The cub nips at Inferno, and he yowls, until he realizes that he is not bleeding. “Buddy, you don’t go straight to pet. You bypass to nose area, first.”

 

As Inferno proves capable of understanding both human speech and decorum by bypassing to nose area, Markus moves on to scratching the base of its ear. “There’s a cat in the local pet store. Hopefully was, that cat needed to be adopted immediately. The chillest little bastard in the world, probably female. Dad’s allergic, but if he wasn’t then that cat would be mine. In a hot minute. The absolute chillest! I named her Sforza. Because _Caterina Sforza_ , am I _right_.” He is very aware that he is talking to a lion and a monkey, and should probably be concerned about where the mother lion is, but he’s not. He’s really not. “Do you want to stick around with me, you wonderful static-monster?” He gets an answer when the cub sticks its face by Markus’ bag, either looking for food or answering his question. He’ll take what he can get.

 

“Well, then, let’s be off. Sforza, you want me to carry you, or are you gonna claw at me?” Sforza climbs onto his chest and digs his claws into the material on his shoulders and stomach, and Inferno sticks to his post on Markus’ head. "Of course. How could I forget option c, do both at once?"

 

Hopefully, all this will mean he’ll have super toned arms by the end of this journey.

 

  
(He’s not sure he wants to think about that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Wow. 4 chapters for two pokemon. amazing.
> 
> literally just really got settled, decided i have neglected adding shit to AO3 for long enough, here is probably the end of yesterday/today's binge.
> 
> Inferno (Chimchar), Rash nature. Level 8, he did some implied battling earlier, and warded off those bird-fuckers way the heck back.  
> Sforza (Shinx), Jolly nature. Level 3. Will grow up to be a huge badass tbh.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT:Hey I changed the title because I fucking hated it. Also I'm working on it again and have gotten ridiculous with it. Galactic got introduced weirdly, it'll be great, I think
> 
> "Fight Plan" like "Flight Plan", because Markus means 'son of Mars' so fights are inevitable, but also because it's Pokémon so fights are inevitable and also you can't escape the fate of 8 gym badges and a league championship, you literally can't do that thing. You log a flight plan for a trip, and you may as well have logged a Fight Plan in Pokémon games.  
> (it's also better than "fuckity fuck pokemon au pls help fucking fuckstick" which is what its saved as in my google docs, soooo...)  
> hey! i dont know how many people read PokeSpe-- you should-- but i used the names and characterizations of Pearl (rival), Diamond (male sprite), and Platinum (female sprite) in this fic. Please read it, my favorite arc is ruby/sapphire, it's great. 
> 
> come find me at galagavantula.tumblr.com. please come find me. i will write things for you if you ask nicely. also please leave comments if only to tell me what sort of swears i should include in my day-to-day life.


End file.
